Commit thy way, O weeper—
The cares that fret thy soul—
To thine Almighty Keeper
Who makes the world to roll.
Unto the Lord who guideth
The wind, and cloud, and sea:
O! doubt not He provideth
A footpath, too, for thee.
Trust also, for ‘tis useless
To murmur and forbode;
Th’ Almighty arm is doubtless
Full strong to bear thy load.
In Him hide all thy sorrow,
And bid thy fears goodnight;
He’ll make a glorious morrow,
To crown thy head with light.
And He shall bring it near thee,
The good thou long has sought;
Though now it seems to leave thee,
Thou shalt ere long be brought
To pass from grief to gladness,
From night to clearest day,
When doubts and fears and sadness
Shall all have passed away.